


4-7-8

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, avoid this if thatll give you a panic attack cause i dont want that to happen, some actual Angst, warning there is vivid description of a panic attack in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 18:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Sometimes, when it all becomes too much, all Anxiety needs is to breathe. Luckily, Logan is there to make sure he can.





	4-7-8

It was too much.

Too much.  _Too much. Too much_.

The room was spinning out of control.

His palms stung where his fingernails dug into them, his hands balling into tight fists; he felt something wet and dimly realized that it was blood, but he didn’t think to care,  _couldn’t_  think to care. He retreated further, further into himself, further into the veil of darkness that surrounded him, squeezed him like a python would its prey, his arms wrapping around his head, his knees digging into his forehead, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, terrible fireworks of bright color exploding inside his eyelids.

His lungs heaved for air, and yet rejected it all the same, and he couldn’t breathe, he was drowning, and he only went deeper, curling up tighter and tighter in the corner of the dark, dark room. It was too much. It was  _too much_ , and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Anxiety?”

No. No. No no  _no no no no no he can’t deal with this right now please no_.

He slapped his hand over his mouth, shrinking down into the corner of his bedroom as he heard footsteps approaching. He wiped at his eyes so hard that his cheeks began to sting, desperate to stop the attack before the other side could get there. He needed to stop, he couldn’t be seen like this and he needed to  _stop right now why can’t he stop_  and the attack only got worse, so much worse, and he choked out a sob as a figure came around the corner, the panic taking hold of his heart, wrapping tendrils around his chest, and squeezing.

“Are you in he — Anxiety?” The voice was soft, a hint of concern in its tone, and Anxiety could tell by the clear, curious intonation that it was Logan, and he shook his head and burrowed deeper into himself, his mind switching rapidly between  _thank god, it’s only Logan, this could have been worse_  and  _no, no no no, it’s Logan, oh no, they found me, no, this is so much worse than it has to be_.

“Anxiety, are you alright?”

He couldn’t talk right now. He couldn’t  _breathe_  right now. His chest was constricted, wrapped in layers and layers of panic and problems and he  _couldn’t right now_ , and Logan must have noticed this, because he kneeled down beside Anxiety, and began to talk.

“Anxiety, you need to breathe,” he said.

_No shit!_  Anxiety thought.

“Anxiety — Anxiety, listen to me, you need to breathe, okay?” His voice was gentle, slow, every ounce of calm that Anxiety wished he could have, but he  _didn’t_  have it; he let out a cross between a groan and a hiss and tried to take a breath, he  _really did_ , but the air that came in felt like water, like burning, terrible fire, and he choked and Logan let out a swear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and Anxiety choked out a terrible laugh.  _What isn’t?_  he wanted to ask, wanted to  _scream_.  _What isn’t wrong? What isn’t a problem? What isn’t bad?_  Every insurmountable problem seemed to fill the room, fill the air — and maybe  _that_  was why he couldn’t breathe, because who could breathe in nothing but problems and be okay?

There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing; a pressure he was thankful for, so thankful for the way that it grounded him, and Logan’s voice, loud and sharp to cut through the gloom: “Listen to me, Anxiety. Focus on my voice, alright? Only on my voice.”

His mind was racing,  _writhing_  with thoughts and emotions, a rolling sea of problems, but Logan’s voice was loud and clear through the turmoil, and Anxiety latched onto it as best as he could, gripping it like a lifeline as Logan talked.

“Can you hear my voice?” Logan asked, and Anxiety, to the best of his ability, nodded. “Alright. Anxiety, I need you to do something for me. Can you breathe for me?”�

_Could_  he? The air still felt thick, painful as he forced it into his burning lungs — but still he nodded, and he could hear the slight smile in Logan’s voice as he continued.

“Good. You’re doing very well. Breathe in for four seconds for me, okay?” He did so, wincing and nearly choking as he pushed the air into his tight, constricted chest. “Good, good. Hold it for eight seconds, alright? Count with me.”

“One,” Logan said, and Anxiety screwed his eyes shut tighter.

“Two,” Logan said, and he bit his lip.

“Three,” Logan said, and his mind swirled with darkness and horror and  _fear, so much fear_.

“Four,” Logan said, and he only wanted to escape.

“Five.” The pain was only getting worse, worse,  _worse,_  and he wanted to escape, _god damnit, he wanted to escape._

“Six.” It was too much.  _It was too much. He couldn’t take it._

“Seven,” Logan said, and all the bad things, every problem that had put him in this state in the first place seemed to fill him, threatened to make him burst. “Now, you need to breathe out for eight seconds. Okay? Eight seconds. Let out all of your breath.”

It tickled his lips as he let it out, and when it went it seemed to take the bad thoughts with it. By three, his brain had slowed, finally slowed, and by five he could uncurl his bloodstained fingernails.

“Eight,” Logan said, and it felt like he’d be scooped out from the inside, and  _god_ , it  _hurt_ , but the suffocating darkness had receded — and he wasn’t okay, far from it, but he was _here_  and that was better than nothing.

“Keep breathing,” Logan said. “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, alright? Breathe with me.”�

And so they breathed. He felt silly, curled into a corner, his palms bleeding and his head pounding, focusing on his breath and only his breath — but his breath was  _so_  much better than his thoughts, than the darkness that had only just let up its hold on his heart, on his lungs and his brain; and he was so, so grateful for the moment of silence, the moment of nothing but breath and the hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ears, counting out the seconds as they passed.

By the end of it, he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t move his arms or pull himself to his feet. But he could  _breathe_ , and he could think clearly, and that was enough. His words were muffled by his arms, his voice so, so weak and tired as he mustered his strength and his gratefulness and said, “thanks, Logan.”

And Logan’s voice was so strong and so calm and so  _needed_  when he replied, “you’re welcome,” and though Anxiety didn’t particularly  _like_  any of his fellow sides, the feeling that blossomed in the empty place in his chest that the attack had left behind couldn’t be described as anything but affection when Logan kindly, concernedly asked, “are you alright?”

“No,” he answered, and chuckled weakly. “But I will be.”

The hand disappeared from his shoulder, and he lifted his head and almost cried out, almost pulled it back and begged for him to stay — but Logan had done enough for him, and he couldn’t ask him to do any more, couldn’t keep him from leaving if he wanted to.

“I’m glad,” Logan said, and then there was a warmth on Anxiety’s forehead and in his chest, the soft warmth of a pair of lips and the gentle flutter of a heart long-broken, and the only thought in Anxiety’s mind in that moment was a quiet  _woah_ , his eyes wide as Logan pulled away.

“Me too,” Anxiety replied, and he  _was_  glad; because he knew that it was too much, that there was no way that they could fix  _every_ problem, solve  _every_  bad thing — but the warmth on his forehead had spread to the rest of his face, and the darkness had given way to a startling light; his mind was quiet and his heart was slow, and he wasn’t okay, he knew that, but somehow, he would be.

He would be.


End file.
